I Lost Control Of This Poem Early

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    I Lost Control Of This Poem Early

     I Lost Control Of This Poem Early
                    by brianlion

    To some,  the glass is half full.
    To me, the glass is half empty...

    And the contents are luke warm
    And has a bad taste to it.

    And the glass has a small crack in it
    That I didn't see.

    And I cut my lip on the glass.
    Now I'm bleeding.

    And I chipped my tooth.
    Now I lost my smile

    And I'm weak from blood loss.
    And I ruined my beautiful table cloth.

    It has blood all over it.
    And I got mad

    So I threw my half empty glass
    With the crack in it

    Against the wall
    And made a bigger mess.

    All because you asked me
    How do I see the glass?

    Is the glass half empty or half full.
    Thanks alot...

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    Grito commented on I Lost Control Of This Poem Early

    10-14-2009

    LOL! I had to stop by and see how you lost control of the poem early, now I see. lol!!
    Reply to Comment

    Brianlion

    10/14/2009

    Thanks for the comments

    jesusfreake commented on I Lost Control Of This Poem Early

    10-14-2009

    lol well atleast u dont have to answer that question anymore....there is no glass! I love the way u think, it's outside of the box and intruguing to read....10 all the way~
    Reply to Comment

    Brianlion

    10/14/2009

    Thank you. I love the way YOU think

    DawnBrazelton commented on I Lost Control Of This Poem Early

    10-14-2009

    Wow! Walk with your head high and the glass will always be full.
    Reply to Comment

    mlea commented on I Lost Control Of This Poem Early

    10-14-2009

    the glass is broken.....oh well, now we will never know...some times it's better that way...mlea
    Reply to Comment

    Brianlion

    10/14/2009

    You are right. Thank you for the comment.

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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